She stiffens visibly, but her eyes betray her. They dilate. Noticeably.
“I would hate it,” she says immediately. “I would never give up control like that.”
“You’re missing the point,” I tell her. “You wouldn’t be giving up anything. You’d be… releasing yourself to yourself, not to me. It would be your choice entirely. Your choice when to start. Your choice when to stop.”
“Sounds risky.”
“Not if you do it right.”
“And what does doing it right entail?”
“Trust.”
She considers that a moment. I didn’t intend to discuss this stuff, but we’ve somehow stumbled across the most important part of it. Trust is the only way for a dynamic like that to work. I hate that I want to explore that dynamic with her. But my desires feel all the more potent whenever I’m with Renata.
She’s also been chained to various pieces of furniture in my presence, which hasn’t exactly helped matters.
Two waiters arrive to collect our plates. One of them hovers beside Renata, giving her a quizzical look. “If you’re not finished, ma’am, I can come back—”
“No,” she says, cutting him off, “I’m done. And you don’t need to bring anything else for me. I’m not eating tonight.”
“You will bring every single course, Simon,” I order. “Whether she eats or not is her choice.”
He nods. She glares at me, but I ignore it and the waiters clear away our plates.
A moment later, they return with plates of shrimp and lobster tagliatelle swimming in a burnt butter sauce. The cloches are removed and Renata’s eyes pinch up as the smell of fresh seafood glazed in butter wafts to her.
“Smells delicious, doesn’t it?”
“You can take the plate,” she tells Simon.
I hold up my hand. “Leave it.”
He gives me another respectful nod and backs away from the table.
Renata glares at me furiously. “Just stop it.”
“Stop what?” I ask innocently.
“The fucking games,” she hisses. “I’ve told you before, I will not eat until you give me back my freedom.”
“I can’t do that.”
She shakes her head with frustration. “You can pontificate all you want about how different you are from my brother, but it’s all just a lot of talk. My brother controlled every move I made. He sold me to a monster. You’ll probably do the same.”
I know the minute she snaps her mouth shut that she’s said something she regrets saying.
“Your brother… sold you to a monster?” I repeat.
She definitely looks pissed at herself. “It’s not important.”
“The look on your face says otherwise.”
The idea of Drago Lombardi selling the woman across from me is troubling. Troubling in the sense that it’s making me feel possessive and territorial all at the same time.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she hisses. “Don’t pretend like you do.”
“You’re the one who brought up the topic.”